Amour
by Veronica Mignon
Summary: One day, an anarchist finds himself lost in a desert with nowhere to go. Many people appear in his life. Yes. It is romance. Guess what pairing.


Amour  
  
Chapter 1  
  
On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.  
Le renard, Le Petit Prince  
  
When I had been a child, I met a girl.  
  
It wasn't as if she and I were meant to meet; she was too hyper and grabbed me by my arm every two seconds. She told me that we should travel the world together. I decided that she was too romantic for my tastes. But strangely enough, she followed me when I tried to run away from her. And that's what makes her so damn special. I tried to tell her to go away but she followed me across the sand. I told her that I had lived most of my life alone and I could do it for the rest of my life. But she wouldn't leave me.  
  
So soon we traveled together, like a boy and his dog. Only it was a boy and a girl. She truly wasn't my type; I don't want you to ever think that I thought of her as a love. Just . . . a good friend to have by your side. It's very hard to hate someone when they try to cheer you up with hand-puppets.  
  
I am writing this because I had a strange adventure once with someone. Once when I was in the throws of my teenage years with a bazooka over my shoulder, I had met a human being who changed my life. No, it wasn't specifically that girl I spoke of. She is in this story as well, but she doesn't get a good hearing until much later.  
  
It was because of this girl that I ended up with the anarchists. You see here, it's hard to stand for the government when they destroyed public education for children like me. The world is made for the rich, that's what I have always said. The world is made for the rich and the adults. I didn't have parents, at least that's what I could recall. Why would they allow me to go to a private school when I had no money to speak of?  
  
Anyway, I joined the anarchists because our "democracy" of a country had turned quickly into a dictatorship. They told you that you had free speech but you couldn't speak freely. They told you that you were free in America, that you could soar carelessly like a bird, but you were not free to do as you pleased. It seemed typical: America had been created by adults and adults were contradictory. And that is why I joined the anarchists.  
  
This girl, no matter how hard she tried to convince me that America was wonderful, took me to the city where my opinion was put into reality. I didn't have a name when she met me. She just called me "boy", which infuriated me greatly. So, like the idiot I was, I ran away from her in anger. I was found by a man with a bazooka over his shoulder. He took me in.  
  
I was only eight at this time, without parents and a name, but yet I still seemed to trust a man with a bazooka on his shoulder. He was much older than I was at the time. Adults always seem much older than you when you're a child. He told me that he used to have a younger brother but cancer had taken him away at a young age. His younger brother was called Kenji. And thus, that was the name I inhabited for many years to come.  
  
I was raised like an anarchist's child. In the morning, he and I would watch the news and he would tell me over and over again how terrible our government had become. Then, in the evening, I was forced to read about revolutionists. I guess you could say it was my lessons on different cultures but I'm not sure if it was so clean and tidy like that. Either way, I wasn't allowed to have my own life. Those anarchists, always telling you that the only way to gain freedom is to rid yourself of the government; the truth is, if you cut off the hydra's head, another one will grow in its place.  
  
I was well versed in mythology, as you can see. Particularly, I was fascinated with Greek and Norse mythology. The story of Garm entranced me at my young age: a giant beast, destined to kill the human race . . . or was that really what he was? No personality was given to Garm . . . he was just considered evil. And yet Tyr was considered good when he ended up killing Garm without thinking of the poor wolf's life. I've always felt sorry for villains. Call it my sick sorrow.  
  
Eventually, the man who had raised me and taken care of me disappeared. Well, they said he disappeared but in truth, he died. I wasn't that stupid at eleven. But once my man was gone, I could only follow in his footsteps. His bazooka became mine. His boots came to adjust to my growing feet. I was assured that my man was my hero. I had forgotten about the times that he had forced his opinions on me. But then again, after death, the only thing you can think about of a person is the good that was in them.  
  
I followed in my man's footsteps, hoping to grow up just like him. I also hoped to meet that young girl once again so I could tell her all about my dearest apologies. Truth is, I didn't want to follow in my man's footsteps and I didn't want to meet that young girl again. I told myself that I wanted to. There was no conversing with my stupid brain.  
  
And one day, I was chased out of my old hometown. A pack of anarchists had thought I was a nihilist and followed me until I hid in the desert, far away from the home of my life. I hated being mistaken for a nihilist. Where I came from, the anarchists and the nihilists were battling every day for who was right in their ideas. It was a stupid fight, just like religion.  
  
I was alone, without food, without water, without a place to stay. The only companion I owned was my trusty bazooka, resting atop my shoulder. I must have looked like shit. I wore rags as clothing, mainly for looking scary. My cloak was torn and ragged, as was my straight and short hair; for it was cut terribly in the back. I kept a rag across my mouth, hiding any details women would find interesting. In fact, my only features that weren't hidden were my eyes: large almond sockets with black irises. I had been told once that they looked like giant black holes, pulling in the unfortunate. I believe that had come from a prostitute.  
  
He was merely sixteen when I met him, skipping across the desert like he adored the idea of death. He had white hair, almost, cut with a curl at the end and his skin was as dark as the sand my feet were slowly sinking into. He was dressed well and appeared without a sign of starvation or fatigue upon him. I was immediately intrigued.  
  
"Nemaskar!" He greeted and clasped his hands in front of his chest. When I didn't respond, his golden eyes lit up with curiosity. "Annyong-hai- shi? Nihao? Konnichi wa?" My eyes were tired from staring at the sun. I decided to glare at this annoying fool. "Hola?" he continued. "Bonjour? Bonjiourno? Oh, I know! Ah-lan wa sah-lan!"  
  
"Hello", I grumbled angrily.  
  
"Oh, well, hello! What are you doing out here all by yourself?" His eyes shined brilliantly, as if he was fascinated with me. I wasn't used to people staring at me and I generally started to glare when I was feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"Gee, let me see. Oh yes, I'm vacationing out here."  
  
"Really?" he shouted. "You could say I'm vacationing, too. Actually, I am traveling. This is pure work, what I am doing. Someone as strong as you probably couldn't do it either. I am having quite a hard time doing it so I guess you could help me. Come on, hurry up!"  
  
I got up from my sulking position but I did not follow the young man. Instead, I walked away in the opposite direction from him, hoping to loose the kid. But he was sharper than I thought. He quickly spun around and realized that I was farther than he wanted me to be.  
  
"You cannot help me going that way! You must follow me!" Giving up, he ran after me and tried to follow my fast pace. There was no possible way of me getting rid of him unless I ran and I often had a hard time running on sand. This boy ran on sand like he had been born in it.  
  
"What is that thing that you are carrying on your shoulder?" he asked. An innocent question, really. But my pride won out.  
  
"It's not a thing", I hissed. "It's a bazooka. It's my bazooka. Now get lost."  
  
If I were to believe he was disheartened from following me, I would have been an idiot. The kid quickened his pace so he was right next to me. Quickly, I stopped walking and gave him my best expression: a mix of ennui, anger, and exhaustion. He tried his best to copy my face and then held out his hand in a peaceful manner.  
  
"My name is Cronos. What is your name?"  
  
"What does it matter what my name is? You're in my way. I have to make it out of this desert before I starve. I don't have any food or any water. So if you want to stand in my way and force me to die, than that's fine with me. But I'm rather fond of my life and I'd prefer to live until I actually am a civilian. Now move out of my way."  
  
Cronos did not move from his spot. His hand was still extended to me and when I tried to move around him, he only followed me. Finally, I took his hand, nearly squeezing it, and growled, "Kenji."  
  
"Ah! I much rather like that name . . . I have been almost all around this world and I have not met anyone with such an interesting name as yours. Shall I write it in my journal? 'Today I met a boy named Kenji. He was rather grouchy but I didn't mind. It seems as though all humans are grumpy. I would much prefer burning to death now.'"  
  
I stopped.  
  
"You would prefer burning to death? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Don't you know?" Cronos said as if the world had hid a secret from me my whole life. "I am going to die soon. That is why I am traveling this world. I want to see as much of it as I can before I am gone. I would truly hate to have gone nowhere when I die. Too many people do absolutely nothing in life." He smiled sadly. "Of course, I may be reincarnated. I would like to be a bird in reincarnation. I know you can't pick what you will be reborn into, but I would much prefer to be a bird."  
  
I eyed him with interest slowly growing inside. He was as old as I was and yet he already knew he was going to die soon. I was not a child; I knew that everyone died sometime in life. But to hear a boy my age say something as foreboding as that, I almost felt as though it were real. I was going to die soon too. Even though everyone tells you that life is long, you realize that when you are eighty, life seems as if it were just a second.  
  
"Would you like to help me?" he asked again, with a small winsome smirk.  
  
I felt a half-smile growing on my face too, but he wouldn't be able to see it. I covered my mouth, like I covered everything else. He would have to guess from my expressions. Quixotic with the idea of finally having a friend my own age and gender, I muttered, "Whatever."  
  
This time, when Cronos walked off into the never ending desert, I followed. 


End file.
